“Sorry, Admiral. I misspoke.” I felt ten inches tall after his lambasting, wanting to disappear into a passing room as he turned and continued behind Carlos. Thinking just a few more minutes and he’ll sign the contract and be gone I carried on waiting for his pen to mark the paper.
The conference room was dark, quiet, and cluttered with the last meeting’s remnants: coffee cups, stirrers, and candy wrappers.
After we entered, Carlos set about clearing the table with a speed I had never seen before. The Admiral looked over at me and nodded toward him as if urging me to help. Unfortunately, I moved too slowly.
“C’mon, Matt, get your ass over here and help me out,” he yelled. “Nobody around here cleans up after themselves anymore. You’d think my staff of genius scientists could pick up their own trash. After this I’m putting up a big damn sign in here that says ‘your mother doesn’t work here.’”
A chuckle from the front of the room reminded me that the Admiral was still waiting patiently watching our cleaning party. I thought it funny that my boss was so intent on cleaning the table ignoring the Admiral when we could have just used the uncluttered end to seal the contract. There were plenty of chairs for that and they were all clean.
“Now, Matt, for example look at that: a Payday wrapper,” Carlos snapped. “I know you’re the only one on our staff who eats Payday bars. Pick it up!”
As I swiped the wrapper and a nearby Styrofoam cup from the table, the Admiral spoke breaking his cleaning frenzy.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said. “I’ve been on planes, more planes, and automobiles without a head for hours. Can one of you please point me to the nearest one?”
Obliging his request, I walked into the hall and directed him two doors down to the right. Normally our visitors didn’t carry their briefcases with them into the restrooms but he did. I wondered why.
Stepping away, he turned back to me.
“Oh, Mr. Cross, would you mind having coffee served when I return? The flight attendant services in our Navy planes suck especially in fighter jets. I need some caffeine.”
Smiling I returned to Carlos and relayed his request.
“Well get on it, VP Cross,” he said to me. “You’re on a fast track to fame and fortune now. Might as well work for it.”
His sarcasm confused me; it didn’t make sense that he would put me in this position then begrudge me the honor. Maybe he had been pressured to put me there. Maybe he was expanding the chain of command at someone’s request and felt bitter. On the other hand, maybe he was just having a bad day. I couldn’t tell. I let it pass and called his secretary for a pot of fresh coffee.
Chapter 4. Devil’s in the Details
Admiral Greenfield returned to a spic-and-span conference room while we sat waiting as if nothing had happened.
“Coffee’s coming,” I said.
He smiled and sat beside me, then opened his briefcase and pulled out a cell phone.
“Got to check my messages. Excuse me a moment.”
Five minutes later, having cleared his message queue he discussed his trip with us but avoided contract details waiting for the coffee to arrive. Soon Suzie entered with a coffee service, placed it on the table, and handed Carlos a manila folder.
“Here’s the proposal with the emergency RFP mods submitted earlier by Admiral Greenfield’s group.”
“Let’s get down to business,” Greenfield barked. “I have a five o’clock tee time back in Florida with my boss at SOCOM. He’ll want to know what happened here.”
Carlos pulled the contract from the folder. By our standards it was thin probably only ten or fifteen pages. I had seen thicker ones for salvaging civilian wrecks for much less cost.
“Well, Admiral,” he said, “it’s quite unusual to have such a short turnaround time on a request for proposal but I think I’ve adequately covered your needs and the mods your office submitted from Florida this morning. It should be to your liking.”
Sliding metal-rimmed reading glasses from his coat pocket, he took the contract and flipped to the last page.
“Eight million dollars!”
He recoiled then settled back in his seat paging to the Technical Objectives section.
“Hmm.” Then came another “Hmm.” Checking my watch, I noticed he continued for four minutes turning pages in between his almost irritating hums. Since I had never seen it but was told it was a dummy salvage contract, I was more than curious what all the humming was about.
“Well, it seems to be all here, Mr. Montoya, but why has the cost risen? It’s not what we originally discussed.”
“With all due respect, Admiral, the letters QRT in your RFP mods did that. Putting Mr. Cross on your quick response team will cost me lots of money; it means he will have to be replaced on his current contracts and then we will also lose his valuable expertise promoting new jobs.”
My suspicions were being confirmed about my bargaining pawn status and I wasn’t too pleased.
“How fast is the quick response?” I inquired afraid to hear the answer. “I mean when do I start?”
Carlos glanced at the Admiral and nodded then stared back at me.
“There is a dire emergency with an undersea government installation which needs your assistance now, Matt,” he said. “They need you to travel out on the Osprey today to an undisclosed location and begin working your deep-sea miracles now.”
Choking on the coffee I had just sipped I still managed to respond.
“Today? Now?” I asked, trying to remain rational. Rather than throwing a tantrum, as I wanted to do I bit my tongue and decided to talk it out.
“Now, Carlos, Admiral Greenfield, I admit that I’m a driven man but this is ridiculous. I mean I need to tell my wife. I don’t have clothes for a trip, not even a toothbrush. I—”
Greenfield held up his hand halting my objections.
“That is all taken care of, Mr. Cross,” he said. “You will be given everything you need for up to a month’s existence in our facility where you will live, work, and attempt to solve our crisis all at a thousand meters below the surface. As for your other concern, Mr. Cross, I’ll personally call your wife on my flight back to Florida.”
I was livid at not having been told beforehand that this was in the works but I had a feeling Greenfield was as surprised as I was at the new urgency. Besides calming my anger, the details of the task sounded interesting to me. I couldn’t help it. What self-respecting deep-sea oceanographer would turn down an offer to live in an undersea habitat for a month? I had visions of a deep-sea space station and I would be an aquanaut living there: surely the height of my career.
“What’s this facility called? Maybe I’ve heard of it,” I asked.
The Admiral cleared his throat and sipped coffee.
“I highly doubt it but the onboard crew calls it Discovery One in honor of Stanley Kubrick’s 2001 spacecraft; its code name is Sea Station Umbra. Heard of that?”
I thought back racking my brain for any association to the name but there was nothing.
“No sir, can’t say that I do,” then I added, “but it sounds interesting.” I knew I’d hate myself in the morning for saying that but it just came out unfiltered as usual.
“What else can you tell me, Admiral?” I asked pressing further.
He looked at Carlos then slid the contract in front of him, took a pen from his breast pocket and signed it.
“We’ll discuss that on the plane, Mr. Cross, since Carlos doesn’t have the necessary clearance. I am duty bound though to tell you that only one-hundred individuals on this planet know of its existence and of those, only thirty six know why it’s there and what it does. You, Mr. Cross, will be number thirty seven.”
“I’ll assume everything that I’m hearing is Top Secret and handle it accordingly,” Carlos offered.